Gretna Green
by Duchess Emma
Summary: Sequel to The Right Man but can be read alone. Sybil and Branson elope to Gretna Green. The plans, the secrecy, the wedding, and of course, the wedding night. No spoilers for Series 2. Now complete!
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own _Downton Abbey_. I never have and never will.

As promised, this is a sequel to my previous story, _The Right Man_. It isn't necessary to read it before to understand this story but it might give a bit more insight into how I see the Branson/Sybil relationship. I had originally wanted to make this a one-shot but thought it best to divide the chapters. Apparently I have quite a bit to say about this elopement.

For those of you unfamilar with Gretna Green, I once heard it described as the Las Vegas of Great Britain. It's a town just on the other side of the Scottish border where, due to the Hardwicke Act, young women and men in the 18th-19th century often flocked to get married. Scottish marital law was rather lax requiring just intention to marry by the two parties involved to be married. No priest, no license, no banns to be read, and best of all no parental consent. It is part of numerous plots for novels during the late 18th century and into the 19th (no to mention romance novels). For Austen fans, it is where Mr. Wickham is supposed to take Lydia Bennet for a quickie marriage (they get detoured in London). In 1856, one was required to have a 21 days of residence in Scotland in order to get married there. Gretna Green is still a popular place for weddings today but the parameters of Scottish marital law have since changed and are more "traditional" (and you don't need to be resident for 21 days any more).

For the purpose of this story, I am foregoing the 21 day residency requirement. Makes it a little more spontaneous, doesn't it?

Gretna Green

They were young and impulsive. But they were also in love. And there was only one place for them to go; in fact, young, impulsive couples had taken the road there for over a century. Disapproving parents hated it. Young couples loved it. And this place could only be Gretna Green, where quickie marriages were a matter of pride and 'til death do us part' was delivered with speedy efficiency.

And that was where Tom and Sybil were headed tomorrow night. They had made plans days ago, late at night, in bed, after the declaration of war and after they had made love. It seemed the most natural thing to do, elope.

Sybil knew her parents would not understand. She knew they would forbid it or worse try every way to prevent it. Send her to London. Send her to a nunnery. To the Continent. To Siberia. Anything to keep the smudge of a bad match off her title and theirs.

And that was nothing to what they would do to Tom. At the least he would be sacked. At the worst sent back to Ireland.

So it was an elopement for them. She had told Tom it was better to ask forgiveness than permission. An engagement could be broken, a marriage could not. And they couldn't annul, not if the young couple consummated their love. (Oh and consummate they would)

The secrecy of it all was bothersome. She knew it was best they kept their engagement and impending marriage a secret, but it was so..difficult. She hated lying, hated the deception. She was in love with a wonderful man. He didn't have a title or money, but he was sweet and kind. Why couldn't she shout it from the roof of Downton Abbey? Hold hands in front of someone other than Mrs. Hughes? Tell her parents and sisters the good news?

Although secrecy was exciting at times. Their entire courtship was in stolen glances, covert letters, and secret meetings. Even the morning after they had made love they shared a passionate kiss in the library. He had surprised her. She had been perusing the shelves, trying to appear normal, when her heart was near bursting with love. Suddenly his hands turned her around and she found herself pressed up against the shelves, his lips on hers. Her body had reacted with eagerness-she grasped the back of his coat, her finger curling into the fabric. His lips had devoured hers, as if imprinting her taste, her texture onto his memory. She knew because she felt the same way. Every taste of his tongue, every brush of his lips was delicious. She had moaned softly and he tore his lips away. She had seen reflected in his eyes her same emotions; love and arousal. It was a potent mix. He had taken a step back, his hands holding hers, brushing his thumb over the band on her hand. She had moved it that morning, not wanting anyone to get suspicious but she couldn't take it off.

"I love you. Meet me tonight. We'll discuss the details," he had said, his Irish accent hoarse with unspent passion.

"I love you too and I will," she had replied.

And with that he had been gone, as quickly as he had entered. And the entire lunch hour she had to hide her bemused smile and swollen lips.

But their days of hiding were limited. Tomorrow night they would take the train to Scotland. No one knew of their plans. And no one would.

The night before their elopement, Sybil sat down to pen a letter. It was necessary as she was certain her family might think her kidnapped or worse. At least they would know she was safe, even if they were furious. So she wrote:

_Papa and Mama,_

_I am not kidnapped. Nor am I in any danger. Quite the opposite actually, I'm in love. With Tom Branson. Yes, Branson, our chauffer and we are currently eloping. _

_I know you'll be angry. I know you won't approve, but I love him. I need him. We have been together so to speak since my time in London and if I'm honest with myself, I fell in love with him long ago. No, he doesn't have a title. Or money, but none of things have ever or will ever matter to me. I've always known I was different, always known that while I lived at Downton Abbey and it was a part of me, I never was part of it. I wasn't meant to be a lady. You have given me everything I could ever want or need. And none of it was enough until I met Tom. We share a connection that is special. Powerful. The same kind of love I see between you two. _

_There will be consequences to this, I know. You could disown me. Try to break us apart. But I warn you, I will fight for Tom. What we have can't be undone. It won't be undone. _

_In our world it's easy to marry for position or wealth. It's much harder to marry for love. Love takes courage and of that I have plenty. Tom and I strike out into the world, into this ever dangerous and changing world, with each other. No promise of your acceptance._

_But that doesn't mean we don't want it. You can be angry. You can be hurt. But please, at least consider our happiness. We don't want anything from you. Tom's not a fortune hunter and I'm not some helpless heroine in a novel. My greatest dream would be for you to accept us (and our future children)-accept that the "Irish revolutionary" has married your daughter and made her exceptionally happy. Because I am. _

_We will be back in a few days and yes, I'll be married. Please take this time to consider what you will do. Because your actions here will have the same weight as my own. I will never give him up, but I don't want to give up my family either. Only you can tell me if the latter is the outcome. _

_I love you two dearly. I never meant to hurt or disappoint you, but I have to stay truthful to my own heart. And the only person in it is Tom Branson. That won't change._

_Yours truly,_

_Sybil_

The next day, her last day at Downton Abbey, she slipped the note to Gwen with instructions to give it to her family tomorrow morning. By then she and Tom would be long gone.

"Thank you, Gwen. I don't know what I would do without you. Good luck with your new job. I know you'll do great"

She then hugged her friend tightly. Who knew if she would be allowed back here after her elopement?

Bemused by Sybil's peculiar behavior, Gwen asked, "But it doesn't start for another week or so."

"Oh, I know. Just wanted to make sure I said it. Who knows what could happen between now and then?" she replied. The veiled reference to the war was enough to stop Gwen's questions.

The rest of the day was uneventful. She tried to contain her excitement and to stifle her sadness. She was elated to marry Tom. But she knew that in marrying him things would change within her family. They were likely to disown her and she would not be able to return. It was sad but true. Her family who loved her so much would not likely forgive her marriage to a servant.

After dinner and a long evening of idleness spent in the drawing room, everyone retired. She hugged her parents and sisters goodnight. Some tears bubbled to the surface but she shoved them back, knowing that their appearance would cause suspicion. And there she left her family-her parents arm in arm on the way to their bedroom. Mary and Edith bickering on the way to their own. She tried not to think on the shock they would have in the morning.

After Anna helped her undress, she dismissed her with a fond smile. She would miss much about Downton.

But there was much to be done. Grabbing her suitcase from the closet, she began to pack. She didn't have much to pack, merely the essentials. Toiletries, nightgowns, a few dresses, hats, and undergarments. Sybil knew that this suitcase might be the only thing she could carry away with her if she were disowned. Therefore she packed some extra sentimental things: Tom's letters, her journal and pens, some pamphlets on women's suffrage. She also packed any baubles that would fetch a price and all the money she possessed. It wasn't a fortune but it would suffice for a while. She then donned her jean skirt and purple blouse. It was plain enough that no one would suspect she was a lady.

The clock struck 11:45. Grabbing her suitcase, her hat, and coat, she made her way through the quiet darkness of Downton Abbey. It was much like the night that she first made her way to Tom's cottage after the events in Ripon (although this time she wore more than her nightgown and wrapper). She had slunk down to the kitchen and out the servants' entrance then as she was doing the same now.

As she closed the door she felt as if she was closing the door on her old life. She wasn't about to linger but she did feel some sense of loss. Not for her title or her position or even for the wealth she was so accustomed to. Rather she knew that by closing that door she risked her family never opening it again.

But it had to work out. It would work out. She needed to keep that hope alive.

Her hand left the handle and she made her way across the yard and towards the light of the chauffeur's cottage.

Her new life was starting and she didn't want to be late.

FINIS

Please review! I am shameless in my love for reviews.


	2. Chapter 2

**Don't hate me. I didn't abandon this story and while this is only a mouthful when there's been a famine, it's the best I can do. I promise the next scenes will be naughty, very naughty. And we'll have a wedding. And it won't be so long between updates. Promise. **

Chapter 2

His name was Finn and on this night, he the chauffer's chauffer.

Tom had met him at the local pub one fine Sunday afternoon. In the sea of Yorkshire accents, Finn's Irish brogue sounded like a foghorn. And the two had started up an easy friendship, drinking a pint and reminiscing about home.

Finn worked for the Royal Mail, driving the mail from Downton village to Ripon twice daily. And on this day, he was driving three times.

Tom heard a knock on the door and grabbed his flatcap from the table. He had packed his things as well, uncertain of their reception in a couple of days.

With battered suitcase in hand and cap on his head, he opened the door.

She smiled at him, a radiant and beautiful smile which lit up the just darkened room. He let out a brief sigh. He hadn't known until this moment if she would come.

She looked so beautiful. So fresh and young. And all his. Dropping his suitcase, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her soundly.

After a few moments of passionate kisses and seductive moans, she pushed him away gently and said, "Now no more of that until after the wedding."

"You're right, I suppose. Besides, we need to get to the front by 12:30. But this is far from over. We'll have a good two hours on the train and you'll be begging for more of my kisses" he said, eyes heating.

Casting a teasing glance over her shoulder, she said, "We'll see who's the one begging."

He closed the door and they set off towards the front, gravel crunching under their feet. They were both silent. While it was necessary to keep quiet, Tom kept glancing at Sybil. She was walking determinedly, but there was a slight frown on her face and she kept glancing back at the darkened manor.

"Here," he said, taking her suitcase from her hand, "Are you alright, love?"

"Yes," she said, "It's just sad. The end of a chapter of my life. I won't miss it…but I will, is that strange?"

"No, of course not. When I left home, I felt the same way. I was more than willing to leave Ireland but it's like finishing a book you love. You're happy to be done with it but sad that it's over."

"Exactly," she said smiling again, "How did you get so wise?"

"Your father's library," he said and they both chuckled.

They were nearing the gate and he could see Finn's car idling in the distance. He stopped, put the suitcases down and turned her towards him.

He needed to say this before it was too late. He took her small gloved hands between his and taking a deep breath, he began, "Are you sure about this, Sybil? I can send Finn away and we can go back to the house, no one the wiser. But once we get in that car, there's no going back. This is the moment that will forever change the course of your life. You won't be Lady Sybil, but Mrs. Branson-and once I make you mine you'll never be free of me."

She reached up and cupped his cheek, "I hope in less than twenty four hours, you'll never have cause to doubt me. We belong together. I am yours and you are mine. I would happily shed my title a thousand times to be with you. All that matters now is us. My fate was changed the moment you handed me the pamphlets"

Lifting up on her toes, they shared a soft kiss in the twilight shadows of the great manor house. And then they walked through the gate together.

The ride to the Ripon station was blessedly quick. Sybil couldn't quiet the feeling that someone might notice her gone or worse, notice Tom was gone. And chase after her. She tried to calm herself. Angry papas only came after heroines in novels. Her father would be livid, but he was logical…she hoped.

But they arrived in due time, bought tickets, and settled into the coach without an incident.

Their compartment was empty and as the train pulled away from the station, Tom put his arm around her.

"Go to sleep, love" he whispered against her ear, sending shivers down her spine.

"But I thought I was supposed to be begging for more kisses," she said, stifling a yawn.

"We'll have plenty of time for that in Gretna Green. And that's a promise."

"I suppose," was all her response before her eyes shut. She snuggled her head into his shoulder and he nuzzled his head on top of hers. And she was asleep.

FINIS

**Thanks for the patience. I still love reviews!**


	3. Chapter 3

**I can only say that my writer's block has not been helped by the premiere of Series 2. I'm American, so I don't even have access to it. However, sulking about it has taken up a great deal of my time. I actually didn't respond back to one of the members on my dissertation committee because I was so jealous he was in England and I was not. (I was also concerned that I might write something like "In addition to feedback on my prospectus, could you watch the 2****nd**** series of Downton Abbey? Really any bit would help.") I can't even go the homepage of our little fanfiction community because the new stories and their descriptions contain spoilers. Alas, here I am, forced to make up my own version of Sybil and Branson's entanglement in the margins of our fandom.**

**Hope you enjoy this chapter! It's saucy. **

Chapter 3

They woke up in Scotland. He to the soft rays of the dawning sun, she to the wicked things his mouth was doing to her ear.

She moaned herself awake and he said, "Ah, you're finally awake, my love?" His voice was husky with sleep and it seemed to emphasize his Irish brogue.

"Are we there yet?" she said breathily. His lips found a particularly sensitive spot behind her earlobe.

"Nearly," he whispered back, lips ghosting over her skin, "but it is morning and I think that after a long night as your pillow, I at least deserve a 'good morning' kiss."

She smiled, "I suppose."

And she turned her head towards his. He looked so adorably boyish. His hair was slightly mussed from their nighttime position and his eyes still had a little bit of sleep in them, but he was so handsome. This was the image she would wake up to every day for the rest of her life.

He tipped up her chin and softly placed his lips against hers. She opened her mouth, wanting more of him, wanting to ignite the fire between them. He moaned in surprise, but thrust his tongue in to tangle with hers. Her hands tangled in his hair, pulling his head further against her lips. She didn't know what came over her. She was usually bold, but this felt different. Aggressive. Finally they were away from the watchful eyes of her family and she felt free. Free to indulge in some naughtiness with her betrothed.

He didn't seem to mind. If anything, he relished her passion. His hands stroked down her arms, and he pulled her closer, until they were chest to chest in the suddenly hot compartment.

She could feel his heart pound against her own and evidence of his arousal against her thigh. Whether from their current passionate embrace or from sleep, her hat and hair were disheveled, pins falling all over the seat. And she couldn't care less.

Her hand wormed its way down his neck and under his collar, lightly stroking the soft skin of his hard shoulders.

With deft fingers, he had managed to unbutton her coat and slide his hands along her cloth-covered sides. His thumbs nearly brushed the undersides of her breasts…when an awkward cough made them break apart. Standing in the doorway of the compartment was a conductor.

She went bright red as he groaned his disappointment. Turning towards the door, he said, "Yes?" in a tone of pure annoyance.

"You love two lovebirds better save that for Gretna Green. We're a mere five minutes from arrival," came the brisk burr of the Scotsman. And with that warning he shut the door and was off.

No sooner had the door closed than a girlish giggle escaped from her lips. He turned back to find her eyes alight with mirth. "You think that funny, do you, minx?" he said.

"Maybe," she replied.

Kissing her tenderly on the lips, he then pulled away. "Well, it was rather funny. But he's right, we best be ready to disembark."

They both went about straightening their clothes. Touching her hair, she realized what a mess sleep and Tom's amorous kisses had made. Gathering the scattered pins, she tried her best to put her hair back into place. Donning her hat, she turned and stood.

Tom already gathered their suitcases and in a few moments they were on the small platform in Gretna Green.

"Where to now?" she said, breathless with excitement.

"To the hotel," he said.

"Oh really?" she said saucily.

He smiled, "Not like that, love. We're going to the hotel to be married. They have a wedding room" and with a devilish smile, "and a nice honeymoon suite."

He led the way to Smith's, a hotel connected with the famous Blacksmiths Shop.

"You know quite a bit about this whole process. Are you sure you haven't eloped before?"

"Research, my dear, research. Besides, everyone knows where to get married here. Clandestine marriages require secrecy, but we all know where to go."

They walked the short distance between the town and the train station, and made their way to Smith's.

He strode up to the front desk and a sweet old Scottish woman asked, "Name, dears?"

"Branson. We've booked the Rennison Room for our wedding and the honeymoon suite."

She smiled kindly as she began to look for their reservation, "We've had quite a flood of weddings here in since the declaration."

She quickly located their reservation, "Ah, here we are, honeymoon suite B. And you've already scheduled the wedding for 8am." The kind woman took one look at Sybil's disheveled hair and wrinkled gown and said, "Maybe the bride would like to freshen up before the ceremony?"

Sybil smiled, "Yes, please."

She summoned a bellhop and Sybil turned towards Tom. He looked so adorably wonderful. Their wedding day. And they would be married in less than ninety minutes. He gave her a quick peck on the cheek and said, "I'll see you soon, love. Just don't keep me waiting."

The bellhop took her to honeymoon suite B. As he opened the doors and led her in, she was amazed at how wonderful the room was. With a small seating area and a table to one side, next to a glowing fire, the room was cozy and welcoming. A canopy bed dominated the room with mahogany wood and red hangings. Red roses were in several vases around the room and the smell permeated the room. Everything about the room was romantic.

The bellhop put her suitcase in the small wardrobe and asked, "Is there anything else I can do for you, madam?"

"Yes. Would be so kind as to send up a maid for me?"

"Certainly, madam."

Minutes later a redheaded woman named Fiona was at the door and ready to help. She reminded Sybil of Gwen.

Sybil had pulled out her "wedding gown" and it was laying on the bed. In truth, it wasn't a wedding gown exactly. It was the dress from her debut in London and as it was white, it seemed appropriate. And somewhat frivolous. She could've used the room to pack more of her clothes or other belongings but it was her wedding day. Didn't she deserve to wear something special? And it was definitely special. Lace three quarter sleeves and a scalloped neck offset a fitted skirt and cinched waist. It was beautiful and a bit over the top for a Gretna Green wedding.

But she couldn't resist, particularly, as Tom hadn't been in London and had never seen the dress.

Fiona helped her into it (it required a corset, unfortunately) and re-fixed her hair into a soft chignon at the base of her neck. Sybil donned her pearls and closed her matching reticule.

Turning towards Fiona, she asked, "How do I look?"

"Lovely, ma'am, just lovely. That strapping lad of yours won't be able to take his eyes off you," she replied.

"Thank you, Fiona," and looking at the clock on the mantle, "I best not keep my groom waiting any longer."

"True, he might be liable to come get you from the suite and then you two wouldn't make it to the ceremony," Fiona replied with a wink.

Sybil walked slowly down to the Rennison room (Fiona had given her directions) and felt like she was floating. It was like some type of internal glow was brightening everything. She felt wonderful. Exhilarated. This was how she always thought she'd feel on her wedding day.

Stopping outside the white doors to the wedding room, she took a deep breath. It wasn't that she was anxious about this decision. She had never been more certain of anything in her life. It was like the pause before you jumped into a body of water (as a child she loved to swim in the lake on Downton's grounds). But she was more than ready to jump.

She pushed through the door.

* * *

><p>It was quick by English standards, but perfectly average for a Scottish wedding. The vows, exchange of rings-had been nerve wracking and wonderful.<p>

Tom's mouth had dropped open when she walked into the room. His hands felt slippery the entire time and he couldn't take his eyes off her. She was a vision in her lovely gown. The intricate lace hinted at the curves he knew were buried beneath several layers of the frothy lace. The soft color perfectly complimented her golden skin and full pink lips. She was beautiful. More beautiful than he had ever seen her (and that was saying something).

Her eyes sparkled and her lips curved in a serene smile during the entire ceremony. And he knew he had a stupid and goofy grin the whole time.

As he took her soft hand in his and they walked through the double doors as husband and wife, the wedding march playing in the background, he had one thought: get to the room and remove that damn gown.

Mrs. McFee, the kind woman from before, threw some rice on them and notified them that breakfast would be brought up to their room momentarily.

He was so happy he was speechless. They were married. Really and truly married. And after they consummated the wedding, no one or nothing could change that. Not her family, not society, not the Germans or the British Army.

She led him to the room as she was there before and he was more than eager to follow her. To follow his clever wife.

His smile grew wider. He liked the sound of that.

She removed the key from her delicate reticule and opened the door. Before she could step through, he quickly swept her up in his arms, carrying her across the threshold.

"Tom!" she squealed delightfully, "There's no need for that. I'm perfectly capable of walking myself."

He smiled, "I'd rather not risk it, Mrs. Branson."

Once inside, he set her back on her feet. She turned to face him, a teasing smile on her face. "You know, if we're adhering to all wedding traditions, we didn't get a chance to kiss at the end of the ceremony."

Matching her playful tone, "Oh really? You know, I don't think it's a real wedding without a kiss between the bride and groom."

She moved closer, "Well, we'd better not risk it," echoing his words.

Her lips crashed into his, her small body colliding with his. She wrapped her arms around his neck, moving to her tiptoes to press even further into him. He wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her snug against him, searching for that perfect fit.

She backed him against the wall next to the door, giggling at his surprised moan. Her hips were right against his very aroused body and she pushed just a little bit. Just enough to make him burn.

A knock came at the very close door. He groaned, "Will we ever be alone in this bloody town?"

"Be nice, my love. It's only breakfast."

Another knock, he leaned in for a kiss, "Can't we send for it later?"

"I'm hungry."

"So am I," he said, suggestively thrusting against her hips.

"Surely a little bit longer won't kill you," she said, "You may come in."

"It might," he grumbled, but stepped aside so the maid could enter.

Fiona came in and congratulated them with effusive enthusiasm; she set down a large tray on the table. Opening it, she unloaded full plates of sausages, eggs, tomatoes, warm scones, and butter. A pot of tea followed.

"I'll be out of yer hair," Fiona said, a wink for Sybil.

"Thank you, Fiona," said Sybil as Tom followed Fiona to the door. Closing it soundly, he locked it.

"No more interruptions," he said as his gaze heated again.

"Not yet, darling. I wasn't lying, I'm starved," she replied.

"So am I. But I suppose, I could eat."

Sitting at the small table, they began to eat. She put some sausages (he loved sausages) on his plate and buttered a scone for herself.

"We're truly married," she said, looking into his eyes.

"Yes, love, we are," he said, smiling. His gaze dropped down, "You look…divine. A goddess. For most of the ceremony I wasn't sure if you were real, if any of it was real." He reached across the table to grab her hand.

She beamed, "You've turned into quite the flatterer. Everything was wonderful. I don't think we could've had a better wedding had we been at Westminster instead of the Rennison room. Do you like the ring?"

He glanced down at the band on his finger, the symbol of their commitment to one another. He had been surprised when she pulled it out of her reticule at the ceremony, but he hadn't had a chance to ask about it till now.

"It's the finest gift I've ever been given. How did you manage to get it?"

"I found it actually. When I was ten, I was going through a real tomboy phase and all I wanted to do was play outside and do rather unladylike things. It drove my parents mad, particularly my mother, who spanked me a couple of times when I came in covered in dirt. I fancied myself a pirate and would go looking for buried treasure," she said.

He chuckled at the vision of a young Sybil, likely in pants with pigtails and smudged with dirt. "You didn't fancy yourself a princess?"

"No, too pedestrian I'm afraid.. I lived in house big enough to be a castle with everything I could ever want; it didn't seem likely that I was Cinderella. Anyways, so on one of my pirating expeditions, I dug up this ring. It was in the woods, probably lost by some passing person. It was my first real bit of treasure so I kept it and didn't tell anyone. When I grew older, I told Mary and she said that maybe it was destiny. That I wasn't Cinderella, but that the ring might fit my prince."

He felt something akin to chills as he looked back at the ring. It did fit him perfectly.

"I bet you didn't expect your prince to be a chauffer."

"Not exactly. But I'm glad it was you," she said.

"Me too." They continued to eat. He ate down four sausages, two scones, and several tomatoes before he stopped. Apparently he was hungrier than he thought.

He looked across the table to find that she had also finished her breakfast.

They both knew exactly what was coming next.

**FINIS**

**I know, I promised you smut and I failed to deliver, at least fully. Frankly, I've had a devil of a time "finishing it off" (wink wink nudge nudge) in my stories lately. Not entirely sure why. They're my favorite scenes to write but also the most difficult. You want to capture that perfect moment between two people. Sigh. **

**Please review!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Mea culpa. I am terribly sorry for the long delay in this update (nearly 3 months!). I got rather caught up in my other fanfics and found my focus on Merlin/Morgana rather than Sybil/ Branson. However, Downton Abbey Series 2 premiered stateside on last Sunday and I thought I should try to finish this off before Julian Fellowes changes everything (if he hasn't already) for us American viewers. Sadly, I've been unable to watch as I haven't done enough of my academic work to deserve such a treat (nor do I have the mental space for such an obsession. Seriously, my adrenaline spikes just thinking about Sybil and Branson) So I'll be waiting until February 7th for it to all come out on DVD. **

**Thanks to everyone for reading and reviewing! ****I've enjoyed writing this couple so much ****and I can't wait for more fodder come February. **

Chapter 4

He'd been teased long enough today. He couldn't wait any longer and apparently, neither could she.

They both stood up and within two steps, he had her wrapped in his arms, his mouth covering hers. Every minute since that wonderful night in the chauffeur's cottage had led up to this exact moment. They were together and absolutely nothing could change that.

They hadn't made love since that night, mostly due to time constraints, but also because he wanted to give her a chance out. But he was done with that. Done denying how utterly right this was, done doubting her and them. As far as he was concerned, marriage meant forever and he'd just promised himself to the most wonderful woman in the world. It was about damn time he showed his wife how much she meant to him.

He'd already removed his coat before they sat down to breakfast, but Sybil took no time to begin unbuttoning his waistcoat and removing his tie. She had more nimble fingers than he remembered. His own hands cupped her bottom, bringing her closer against his already hardened body. Bringing her closer to the bed in some erotic waltz, he drew back from her sweet lips so she could tug his shirt over his head.

As she reached for the buttons on his undershirt, he tore his lips away and covered her hand, "Ah ah ah, my love, it appears there's a slight inequality with our clothing and I know how much you value equality."

With a vixen's smile, she turned to give him her back, "You're right, I do so hate inequality. Specifically when it can be so easily solved."

He pressed himself against her deliciously curvy bottom as his lips ghosted over her ear. "Why don't you put your hands on the post there, love. It might help me to get this corset off quicker."

He ran his hands down her arms and gently raised her hands to clasp the wooden post of the bed in front of her. She arched her back, curving her spine and rubbing her bottom against him.

His fingers slowly removed the pins from her fragrant, using his lips to pay special attention to the side of her neck. His hands dipped down her front to cup her clothed breasts. And while she arched into his hands, she breathed "This gown opens from the back."

"Oh, does it? I must've forgot," he said, teasing.

He could feel how anxious she was to get out of her gown, her eager response to his caresses said as much. Deciding not to tease her too much longer, he began to work on the long row of buttons at the back of her gown. They were small and delicate, so he was extra careful when undoing them. He also took advantage and kept brushing his fingers against her back. After her gown was undone, he pushed it off her shoulders and went to work on her corset. Pressing against her thinly clad body, he fit himself against her back. It was arousing for him, but from the way she moaned and fidgeted, arousing for her also. With the last lace pulled, he shoved the corset to the ground, his hand returning to their original place on her breasts. While there was still her chemise between them, he could feel her pebbled nipples through the silky material.

One had continued to tease her breasts, while the other started to bunch up the hem of her chemise. Her breathing was erratic, her chest heaving into his touch as she waited with anticipation for his next move. His hands found the soft skin between her garters and drawers, pleased with the soft whimpers that spilled from her lips and the hand she angled back to press his lips against her neck. Taking her by surprise, he cupped her through her drawers, pressing his fingers against the already damp fabric. She gasped, startled and aroused by the contact.

Quickly turning her around, he pressed her back against the post. Their lips met with renewed fervency as he finally removed her chemise. Sliding his lips down her neck and collarbones, he cupped her breasts in his hands and covered her right nipple with his mouth. She moaned his name, using the post to support her quickly weakened knees. He flicked his tongue out, running small circles around her areola before gently nipping it with his teeth.

Grabbing one of her legs, he wrapped it around his waist and pressed against her, pleasuring her with his hardness. She bowed her back as he moved to the other breast, suckling a little harder.

He knelt in front of her, placing open-mouthed kisses against her stomach as he untied her garters. Sliding her drawers down, he couldn't help but stare at the delectable sight she made. Clad only in her stockings and flushed pink everywhere, she was his. Sensing his gaze, she opened her lust closed eyes to meet his gaze, suddenly shy. "What?" she asked huskily.

"Nothing, love. You're just so lovely." Placing a hot kiss on her navel, he said, "Here." Another kiss on her flared hipbone, "Here." Rolling down her stockings, he kissed the top of her right thigh and the inside of her left, "Here and here."

He could feel her body quivering, anticipating where her might kiss next but still uncertain.

Smiling seductively, he looked into her wanton eyes as he placed a lingering kiss on the soft curls at the junction of her thigh. "And most definitely here."

"Tom!" she said, arousal and surprise evident in her voice. Giving her no time to be scandalized, he pressed his mouth against her again.

He felt her shudder as he pressed his mouth more firmly against her, his tongue flicking out to taste her.

Grabbing her leg, he put it on his shoulder, opening her up further and supporting her weakened knees. She was a delight. All pink and delicate. And responsive. Every gasp, every moan, every whimper of pleasure sent blood rushing through his body. That he could do this to her, that he could pleasure her like this, was so damn arousing.

His tongue circled her pulsing bundle of nerves, his lips nibbling gently. She was mindless with desire, her body was withering against the bedpost as keeling moans escaped her lips.

He knew she was close, her body was shaking and her hips were straining closer to his mouth. Taking her by surprise, he shoved two fingers into her. Her beautiful eyes flew open as she flew over the edge.

"Oh God, Tom" she said, nearly screaming, her hands gripped his head as she rode out her climax.

As her body went limp, he pressed a final kiss against her mound and then stood up. Quickly shucking his shirt, trousers, drawers, and boots, he swept her up in his arms.

"Have I shocked you yet?" he said, laying her gently on the bed.

"Yes, definitely. And I'm hoping that you'll shock me some more before we're done," she said, a sassy smile on her face.

Smiling in return, he laid down on the bed next to her. She threw her arms around his neck and drew him down for a long kiss. She was giggling at first, but soon her giggles turned back into moans and he couldn't help but return them. Rolling her to her back, he pressed against her still wet center, eager for more, eager to ease his ache, and more than eager to be one with her again. She moaned and arched into him, her body ready, just like his.

Then suddenly an idea struck him, she said she wanted to be shocked. Well, he would shock her more.

Rolling onto his back, he settled her astride his upper thighs. "Is this shocking enough for you, love?" he said, punctuating his questions by rubbing his hardness against her mound.

"Yes," she breathed, amusement and arousal evident on her face. With his hands on her hips, he lifted her slightly and positioned himself at her moist entrance. A quick roll of his hips and he was buried inside her.

"Oh," she said hoarsely, "that is shocking."

Shocking wasn't exactly the word he'd use. Perfect. Divine. Decadent. It was the same as the last time they made love, only better, because he wasn't hurting her. Indeed, from the way she was squirming on his lap, he knew she wasn't hurt at all. He gently started lifting her off his lap, gritting his teeth against the urge to thrust. He wanted her to get used to the sensation, to find her own rhythm. Within a few moments, she caught on and she started to lift herself.

Her body seemed made for this-her dark hair streamed behind her as every movement made her breasts bounce. Every inch of her perfectly creamed skin was glowing and flushed. She was a goddess sent to torture him with pleasure.

She moaned as he began to thrust up, too aroused to lie still. Her body arched and shimmied, arousing him to a fever pitch. He didn't know how much longer he could hold on. Her erotic moans and sensual movements were too much and he'd been too long without her.

One hand reached up to ply her bouncing nipple as the other reached to where their bodies joined. He thumbed her pleasure button over and over, as her body moved in tight circles against him, her moans louder and louder. He felt her tighten around him and then suddenly they were both falling over the edge. Their mingled cries of pleasure echoed in the room as pleasure so intense swept over them both. It was blinding; he saw white spots in his vision as he thrust high and spilled his seed into her.

He kept saying her name over and over again. Even as she collapsed against him, he kept whispering her name. His hands stroked her sweaty back as her soft hair spilled over his upper body.

They didn't speak for several minutes. Too tired, too sated, and too overwhelmed with the beauty of what had just happened. The silence was broken by a soft sniffle next to his ear.

Concerned, he withdrew from her body and turned her face towards his, only to find a few tears coming down her still pink cheeks.

"What's wrong, love? Did I hurt you? I didn't mean to be so rough-"

"It's not that. It's just everything was so…wonderful. The wedding, the wedding 'night', I'm almost frightened to go back to Downton. I'm afraid everything that will change."

Kissing her forehead, he said, "Well, things will change but only for the better. We're married now and that means forever. I don't care what happens once we return to Downton. No matter the outcome, we'll be together. I promise. Like I said before, we're bound together for better or worse. I said I wouldn't leave you alone and I won't. Never."

She smiled at him and settled against his shoulder again. Then she giggled softly.

"What's so funny, love?" he asked, mischief in his eyes again.

"Nothing. I was just imagining the look on Gran's face once she hears of our clandestine elopement."

He laughed too. "I'm sure she'll tell you mother that you needed more hairpins in order ward off unsavory men."

"It never would've worked. I happen to prefer unsavory men," and pulled him down for a kiss. She then proceeded to show him how much she preferred 'unsavory men'.

**FINIS**

**FINISHED! Hurray! So glad this is done! I know many of you wanted a reactionary chapter, something about their return to Downton. Unfortunately, I can't oblige. My Muse just can't imagine what the Granthams reaction would be, so let's leave that to each person's imagination. Thank you everyone for reading and reviewing. I hope that this answered all of your naughty unspoken requests (I think this might be some of my best smut yet, what do you think?). I hope to write more on this couple in the future. ~Duchess Emma**


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